


With or Without Peace, We Tredge On

by Delirious21



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers (IDW 2019)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Other, Post War, Swearing, Transformer Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25024348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delirious21/pseuds/Delirious21
Summary: Optimus Prime felt like he was slipping, grasping straws as he lost himself more and more, but when he came home, he knew his conjunx was waiting. They were his only remedy, but what happens when that peace is threatened?Gender Neutral Character (Prime's s/o)
Relationships: Optimus Prime/ Gender Neutral bot
Kudos: 9





	With or Without Peace, We Tredge On

Peace is frail in the best of times. After eons of systemic formism and violently manifested unrest and rage, no one expected anything  _ but  _ conflict. No matter how hard anyone tried, hatred and division persisted. 

Optimus battled with the shame of being glad that he and his conjunx avoided the worst of the danger this new Cybertron had to offer. During council meetings, when reports focused on cross faction violence and the murders of innocents, he longed to serve as an officer, to command justice in the law, but what law was there left to uphold? Even before the war, justice was a fever dream.That he ever believed in it seemed foolish now.

Standing in the hall outside his apartment, Optimus thought of this as he stared at the crumbled latch dangling from the door. He listened for some reason to enter. His conjunx was covering a double shift at the nursery downtown, so he took comfort in knowing nobody was home when the break-in took place. There was nothing particularly valuable in the apartment, but Optimus grimaced when glass shattered somewhere within. 

Fuck, he was exhausted. Worn to his wits’ end, he debated turning around and going to visit his partner while they worked. He would call Prowl to come take a look, but the situation didn’t merit much energy. 

He was halfway down the hall when a piercing cry spilled from the apartment. Going rigid, he whipped around, quickly equipping his blaster, and retraced his steps. Without hesitation, Optimus kicked the door and it swung on its creaky hinge and banged against the wall. The living room was trashed, flipped furniture, broken vases, but Optimus wasn’t expecting the glowing crystals or the blue energon flower petals scattered among the debris. He was taken aback only for a second before he spotted blotts of fresh energon on the floor. He followed a trail to the bedroom, all the while muffled cries and words swarmed him. 

He heard pleaded  _ stops _ , and snarled  _ fuck yous _ and then a sickening thud, a fist connecting with something solid. Optimus shouldered passed the door and burst in, overcoming the first stranger and knocking him into the wall. A second mech turned on him, knife in hand, and he ducked a swing and swiped the attacker’s legs out from under him. A cursory glance was sent towards the berth, where his conjunx was sprawled, invents coming and going with a rasping sound, but they were alive. 

The first stranger lunged for Optimus and clawed at the back of his neck as if trying to rip out his spinal cord. Optimus reared back and landed heavy on the ground, the mech pinned between his bulk and the floor. The other was struggling to his pedes, so Optimus shot out his kneecaps and rolled off the other, now wheezing, mech. He grabbed the mech’s shoulder pauldron and flipped him over, swiftly cuffing him. As unnecessary as Starscream said it was, Optimus always kept a pair in his subspace. 

He left the first stranger to restrain the second, who was groaning and cursing, clutching his bleeding knee but doing no good. 

Optimus glowered down at him, pressed the muzzle of his blaster against his helm and barked, “What did you do to them?”

The mech snorted. “Your skank would be fine if they’d listened to us.”

“Who are you,” Optimus growled. His trigger finger ached and he could care less about this piece of trash, but if he killed someone, even in defense, it could seriously hamper political delegations with the remaining Decepticon loyalists and the rogues taking refuge in the city. He tried again, “You have two minutes to explain before I blow your brain module all over the floor!”

“Fuck you, Autobot scum. You think you own the planet? You think you have any right to make decisions for the rest of us?” He spat on Optimus’ pedes. “No, you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing, and we’re here to remind you that we all die. We  _ all  _ bleed.”

____

Prowl shook his helm when Optimus recounted the conversation. Jazz and a few other officers already dragged the rogues off, and a medic was checking on his conjunx. The two mechs stood in the hall to avoid the mess of the apartment as they spoke. 

“I’ve seen better assassination attempts from blind mechs,” Prowl grumbled. “Regardless, we’re going to have to relocate you two. There are a handful of flats West from here, should work.”

Optimus wrung his servos together, glancing inside. “Thank you.”

For a moment, there was silence. It raked over Optimus’ nerves and left him jittery and unstable. The medic still hadn’t come out. Prowl patted him on the shoulder and headed out, and Optimus continued to fret while he waited for the all-clear. 

Finally, he was allowed inside. His conjunx was propped up against the headboard, their wounds bandaged and their gaze lazy. Optimus thanked the medic and closed the door before hurrying over to the berth. His partner blinked slow as their optics brightened and they gave him a listless smile. 

“Optimus. . . Are you alright?”

Optimus climbed onto the berth and curled into them. “Yes, yes I’m fine,” he muttered. A servo on his chin forced him to look up. 

They smiled again and kissed the top of his helm. “I wanted to surprise you.”

He looked at them, confused, until they whispered two words that made him feel like he was dreaming, like all this was surreal. 

“I’m carrying, sweetspark,” they said. “The sparkling is safe, and so am I. I love you, Optimus. I could never do anything but love you, my darling.”

Optimus buried his face in their side and wept. Tears of joy, exhaustion, fear, everything poured out of him but he felt no shame in his tears. Here, in his conjunx’s arms, he was safe and appreciated and  _ happy _ . He trembled with his sobs while they pet his helm and soothed his fears and his anxiety. They hushed him and chased away the dark clouds that fogged his mind. 

Optimus would die for his conjunx, and they would do the same in an instant. Perhaps that made their relationship volatile, but peace was never an option. 


End file.
